Shaking Hands (Or How Gamora Realizes How Far Gone She Is)
by kalina16
Summary: Peter's been captured for six consecutive days. Gamora handles it about a hundred times worse than she thought she would.
1. Chapter 1

**So I have officialy fallen into the abyss that is Peter/Gamora. I don't even understand. Here is an angsty oneshot full of whump and a pathetic first attempt at the shreds of a romance.**

**I do not own the beauty that is Guardians of the Galaxy. Enjoy!**

* * *

The first thing Gamora sees is the blood. Red liquid splattered across the floor, soaking into shirt and hair and dying skin in a hideous mockery of his red jacket. Too much blood. Too much red everywhere and _oh god he's not moving_-  
The scream that rips its way out of her throat is inhuman, a horrible rage-filled shriek of anger that would terrify her if the image of his bleeding, motionless body wasn't seared into her brain right now, along with a pain so great that it implicates things she'd rather not think about. And she doesn't think. She rips into the guards-_torturers_-with a vicious bloodlust and in seconds there is nothing but a bloody mess where they used to be, all six of them dead, dead like _him_-

"GAMORA!" Rocket's desperate cry rips her from the haze of rage. "_Stop! _He needs medical attention NOW you idiot!"

She freezes. Rocket is hovering over Peter's limp form, Groot brushing tender branches over his friend's bloody face as Drax stands nearby over a seventh guard, knife stained with blood. And Peter…Peter is covered in blood, his shirt shredded, the skin below covered in hideous burns and lacerations, blue-black bruises running up his cheek and eye socket, but his chest is rising faintly and he's breathing and he's _alive_ and she can work with that.

She's on the ground next to Rocket in a heartbeat, shaky fingers (_why are they shaking her fingers don't shake_) pressing into Peter's too-cold neck, the fluttering pulse beneath them flooding her with relief.

"If you've finished mincing the guards can we please _go_ now!" Rocket yells to her and Drax, his tiny hands tightly winding strips of Peter's shredded shirt around the worst of the cuts. "We need to get to the ship A-S-A-P or we're gonna have ourselves a very bled-out Star-lord here!"

She barks out commands she barely hears herself, assuming the role of leader (_why is she just now realizing there's a reason Peter is their leader_), and in minutes Peter is cradled in Groot's arms and they're sprinting back to the ship. Drax comes up behind her, something clutched in his hands which she does not have time to worry about because Rocket is firing up the _Milano_ and she needs to help Groot stabilize Peter. She's done plenty of first-aid on herself in the past, and bandaging up gashes and stabilizing broken bones with steady fingers is hardly a challenge for her. At least it shouldn't be. Apparently her fingers shake when she's binding up an ashen-faced idiot covered in his own horridly red and gushing blood.

She can do the basics, but as she makes her way through the cuts and burns and bruises she starts to get the sinking feeling that the _Milano's_ medical supplies can only do so much. She ties off the last bandage and tells Groot to watch him, running to the cockpit to inform Rocket in shaky tones _(why the hell is her voice shaking so much this is nothing_) that they are going to need an actual medic. Rocket swears and sets a course for Xandar, muttering multi-lingual profanities as he does so. Gamora slumps against the ladder, then picks herself and heads for the bathroom.

A hand touches her shoulder and she whirls around, nearly snapping Drax's hand in half. He holds up the hand in surrender, eyes watching her warily. She lets go, pulling her own hand back as if burned, and Drax presses the object from earlier into her hands, patting her on the back as he climbs up the ladder. She looks down at it. In her blood-smeared hands is Peter's music player and headphones, slightly battered but still intact.

"_On my planet, we have a legend about people like you."_

She throws herself into the bathroom, sinks down onto the floor and cries.

* * *

They are halfway to Xandar when he wakes up. According to Rocket that's a good thing, because it means he's not dead, but Gamora cannot help but see it as a bad one. No matter how painful it was to see him lying so still, a stark contrast to his usual constant movement, seeing him white-faced and sweating, eyes lost in a haze of pain as his hands clench and unclench, biting down hard on his lip to keep from crying out, is a thousand times worse.

Drax is up in the cockpit with Rocket, helping him pilot as smoothly and quickly as possible to Xandar, scanning ahead for other ships to avoid. That has left her down with Groot to take care of Peter, and frankly, it is hell. There is a distinct lack of painkillers on board the _Milano_, a fact for which she has already yelled at Peter for (_then apologizing because his face is too white and his eyes are too dark_), so there is not much they can do but sit next to him and make sure he does not die. And attempt to make him feel better about the whole unbearable pain situation. Groot is doing a better job at it then her, which is saying something sad about Gamora's comforting skills given the fact that he can only say three words. But she cannot bring herself to do anything except sit next to him, mouth dry and eyes assessing him every few minutes, a small, sinful part of her desperately wanting to take his clenching hand.

But she doesn't, because Gamora is Gamora and she does not do comfort. Her childhood was hardly a comfort-learning environment and the only real sympathy she's ever been shown has come from the people on this ship with her, primarily the man lying injured in front of her. It is her turn to return the favor and all she can do is sit beside him and try not to fall apart.

The ship jolts and Peter lets out a tiny cry of pain, strangling it as he squeezes his eyes closed and throws his head back on the bed. Groot growls out something as Rocket's swearing reaches them from the cockpit, Drax's muttered apology barely audible behind the yelling. She just watches Peter's pained face and hates herself.

* * *

It was a routine mission. A simple, ordinary, grab-the-goods-and-go heist, only this particular time the goods they were grabbing were illegal weapon plans, and the people they were stealing from had decidedly less than altruistic motives for them. They would also be handing them over to the Nova Corps for pay instead of being handed over themselves to the Kyln, so it seemed like a fairly good deal.

The mission had gone fairly well too, right up until she realized they were stealing from Ronan-sympathizers and the sympathizers realized who was stealing from them. Despite the few months' passing since the defeat of the madman, the hatred of his sympathizers for his "accursed murderers", as they put it, had yet to die down. So as soon as they figured out said murderers were in the middle of stealing from them, it was only a matter of time before everything went to hell.

And to hell did it go, as Gamora found herself cut off from the others as the enraged sympathizers descended on them. It was only through her years of training and honed reflexes that she made it to the _Milano_ alive, just in time to see half the compound explode as Rocket blew the power circuitry. It was only after having powered up the ship and blasted several of the sympathizers flooding out of the compound at them that she realized that they were one idiot short. She should not have panicked at that. She definitely should not have screamed bitterly at Rocket as he piloted away, the raccoon screaming back that _they'd be caught if they didn't leave now and they could help Peter better alive than dead._ But she did.

They found him, of course. They were the freaking Guardians of the Galaxy, they always find their own. But not until after six days. Six hellish days of endless searching and sleepless nights. One day short a week of Peter tortured.

And she knew he's lucky to be alive, but that is hardly a comfort, she thinks as she sits next to his hospital bed, the nighttime lights of Xandar casting an eerie glow on Peter's ashen skin.

"This sucks," Rocket says harshly. It is a testament to how somber their mood is that Drax does not even question what the situation sucks. They are sprawled out in various positions around the room, Rocket perched on the window seat, Groot (now half his regular size) curled up beside him, playing Awesome Mix Volume II softly, and Drax standing near the door, terrifying half the Xandarian medical staff away but his guarding stance a comfort to those in the room.

She herself has been given the chair by Peter's bed almost subconsciously. What that means she is not sure she wants to think about.

"Moron needs to go ahead and wake up," Rocket continues. "Human's ain't that susceptible to poison."

"Poison can harm anyone," Drax rumbles.

"That's the damned point of poison." Gamora adds, harsher than she meant to. The faces of everyone she's seen die by poison coursing through her mind on re-run is not exactly helping her mood right now.

"Whatever. He needs to wake up, the blasted idiot."

Gamora agrees. Peter is loud and obnoxious, always humming traces of a song or shuffling around, trying to rope one of them into dancing, always moving, always filling the room with playful banter and ridiculous conversation. He does not lay still and pale and dead to the world in hospital beds. He leaves the rest of the team ungrounded and lost when he does that.

* * *

Twenty-four hours in the Xandarian hospital and there is no still no movement from Peter. The doctor explains that while the poison is mostly (_mostly?)_ out of his system, the trauma from the various injuries and sheer exhaustion Peter is suffering is keeping him under. He'll wake up when he is ready, the doctor says. But for the most part, he is out of harm's way.

It is news that should make her happy. The rest of the team certainly seems to take it well, Drax running a hand over his face and Rocket nearly crumpling with relief. But she is still on edge, still infuriatingly _scared._

Because he might be out of harm's way but Peter is still to pale. He is still too motionless, too quiet. And she is still too hung up over it and she hates it that he does this to her.

The scariest thing is that she cannot leave. Not so long ago a reaction like this would have signified attachment, and attachment leads to nothing but pain and being used. The idea that she is attached to the idiotic half-human is ridiculous, but the fact that he is causing her such pain is even more absurd. Therefore, she should depart from him. But every time she tries to leave her heart constricts and all she sees is him bleeding out on the floor, skin pale and those bright, joy-filled eyes that she has come to depend on so much closed forever, and she is sprinting back to his hospital room like Thanos himself is on her heels.

The facts line themselves up, and Gamora comes to realize she is screwed.

* * *

She is dozing in the room alone while the others' are catching up on sleep, and "Ooh Child" is playing for the fifth time when a hand shakes her wrist softly.

"Hey. Hey. G'mora." She groans, shifting her shoulders as she sits up, blinking blearily as she stares into warm hazel eyes. Eyes that are open and devoid of the haze of pain for the first time in days.

"_Peter!"_ she gasps, heart soaring as she leans over him. "Oh my god-_oh my god_ -are you- you're awake- are you-"

Peter laughs, a wonderful, uplifting sounds that make her heart feel as if it's been filled with helium and is currently trying to escape her body.

" 'm _fine_." He slurs out, pain absent from his voice but not drowsiness. "Are you guys- did everyone make it out okay?"

Gamora resists the insane urge to smack him.

"_That's_ what you're going to worry about now? How about the fact you were captured for _days_?! How about the fact _you almost di-_" she takes a deep breath. She is Gamora. She does not explode. "Yes, Peter. We're all fine. Unlike you."

"Told you, 'm fine, G'mora," Peter protests sleepily. "Jus' a bit…drugged up." He offers her a crooked smile, that one idiotic grin she lov-has developed a fondness for. "But fine, really. Really fine. And 'm not dead. Takes more'n that to kill me."

Gamora glares at him. "It had better not." She turns away, reaching vainly for the composure she wears so well as the waves of emotion bring a threatening burn to her eyes. They were so close, _so close_ to losing him, and all she could do was _nothing_.

"Hey. Hey, G'mora, wha's wrong?" Peter is grasping her hand now, the warmth of the contact shooting chills down her spine as his concerned tone cuts through her misery. "Oh shi-are you crying?"

"_No!_" she snaps out, whirling back to glare him. Her gaze softens as he flinches back, regret seeping through her almost instantly. But his hand remains on hers. "I'm just…" she exhales wearily. "I'm just very relieved you're alright."

" 'm pretty relieved myself," Peter grins back at her. "But seriously, i's okay, G'mora."

"I know, you idiot," she huffs, rolling her eyes. They dissolve into comfortable silence, Peter's mother's music playing softly in the background, their hands still linked together. It's warm and it's comfortable, and for the first time in days she feels at peace, her eyes slowly drifting closed as Peter's do the same next to her.

She is almost asleep when Peter's soft voice pulls her up.

"Thanks, G'mora," he slurs out, barely dancing the edges of consciousness. "Love you."

She freezes, her heart stilling where it beats in her chest. _Love_…

"Love you too, idiot," she says softly, tightening her grasp on his hand as they both drift off.

Yes, she is beyond screwed. But if she is to be beyond screwed, at least it is with Peter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Due to suggestions and my own relentless, stupid muse, what was originally intended to be a oneshot has morphed into a two-shot. I'm not even sure what I'm writing, anymore, except that sappy Peter/Gamora fics are going to be the death of me.**

**Also, somehow all my fics end up with them talking in the cockpit of the _Milano_. I don't even know.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It's been approximately one week since Peter woke up, and Gamora is officially losing her mind. Peter, of course, is fine. He still looks like he was shoved through a blender then trampled by Thanos, and he can't get anywhere without crutches- or this ridiculous hop-skip thing he always resorts to that Gamora yells at him for-but other than that he is _Peter_ again, their loud, hyperactive leader who hasn't stopped blasting his music since he was handed it back in the hospital.

Said Xandarian hospital has forever gained Gamora's love. Apart from saving her idiot's life (_her idiot?_) and putting up with Drax's threatening glares, they also took the care to contact Nova Prime, who not only paid them in full for their work, but covered Peter's hospital bill and their fuel in thanks. Four days later and Peter was released from the hospital, and for all his reaction you would have thought he was a convict spared the life sentence. Or the death row. The point was he was far too excited, and at the rate he is going now he is about to land himself right back in the hospital bed with his antics.

That is part of why Gamora is losing her mind- that despite the obvious color back in his face and his happy expression, Peter still looks horribly fragile, and hopping around the ship-_Use your crutches fool!_-she is seized by a miniature heart attack every time he stumbles.

The other part is considerably less straightforward and much stickier. She is not entirely sure if Peter remembers their words in the hospital that first night he woke up, drugged as he was. He certainly hasn't treated her any differently- he jokes with her as always, teasing her and conversing with her over the most trivial of things- and that should be a relief. She does well with normal. Normal is how they have been functioning the past few months and it's served them well enough.

Except now she doesn't know if she can do normal. Because now that she has finally let those traitorous words slip out her lips it has become impossibly hard to ignore the glaringly obvious fact that her heart, in fact, meant them. Which is a problem. Because as much as Gamora does not do comforting and weak sappy crying, she does lo- love, even less so.

But her accursed, traitorous heart is apparently trying to inform her differently, because every time she even looks at Peter her chest does this vertigo thing and it feels like she's filled with helium again.

In short, Gamora is still screwed. And three days out on the _Milano_ without so much as a shred of a confrontation with Peter and Gamora is going crazy. It is pathetic and humiliating, that she could be brought this low by simple emotions, but it is her reality now and that is why she is curled up in the cockpit, glaring out at the galaxy and blaming it for all her problems instead of sleeping.

This _sucks_.

"Gam?"

And seeing as the voice that just spoke has been the bane of her existence for the past week, this night just got a whole lot suckier.

She spins the pilot's seat around to see him just hauling himself up the last rung of the ladder, skip-hopping himself into the seat next to her. She doesn't know whether to laugh at how stupid he looked hopping, yell at him for not using crutches, or break down and shove a knife to his throat and demand answers. So she goes with the only thing she can strangle out.

"_What_ did you just call me?"

"Gam," he replies, that idiotic half-grin on his face again. "It's a nickname, y'know? Like Gams. Or Mora. Got a preference?"

It's a testament to how much their friendship (_why is the word friend coming to grate so when it comes to him_) has progressed in the past months that she does not even hesitate to quip back.

"Well if I am to be called Gam, I suppose this means I can call you Pete?"

The look of disgusted horror on his face is so hilarious she almost breaks her deadpan façade to burst out laughing.

"Ew, _no._ God no, why would you even-no. My name sucks for nicknames. Just call me Star-lord or something."

"That hardly seems fair," she smirks. "At least shorten it to Star?"

"What? Now I just sound like a girl."

"With that shriek of yours, you could fool some people."

"You're hilarious. And I do not shriek."

"Thank you, I take pride in it. And yes, you do."

"I do _not_!" he protests indignantly, and Gamora laughs at the childishness of it.

Though considering her reply is "You do _too_", she is apparently as bad as he is now. That or she just loses all her warrior's composure with him. Oh wait, that's already happened.

"Whatever, I've never shrieked in my life," he mutters, pouting. "It's a very manly yell of terror."

"Sure, _Pete_."

Peter throws one of troll dolls decorating the console at her with an indignant "_Hey!_" then winces as the movement pull s at one of his many half-healed injuries, leaning back in the seat, arms and legs instinctually curling up against the pain.

She has to brutally murder the urge to jump up and hug him until his face stops looking like that.

_Brutally_ murder.

She settles on a far-too concerned "Are you alright?"

"I'm fantastic," he says, flashing her a smile as the pain fades from his face. "The real question here is why aren't you catching up on your beauty sleep?"

"I do not need sleep to give me beauty," she says, affronted.

"Aw,no-it's just an expression," Peter sighs. "I'm just asking why you're awake."

"Ah," she says. She considers her options-lie, and continue to go insane; tell him the truth, and end up utterly humiliated (_she can't think about the other option on that one)_; or bust open the front window and let the cold vacuum of space take care of all her problems for her.

She'd happily go with option three, but that would result in Peter's death as well, and that has already proved not to be a viable option for her. In any world. Ever.

So she just stares at him. He stares back.

It is profoundly awkward.

He gives her a questioning look.

"Uhhhhhhhh…" she needs to come out with it. She needs to get answers. She will never rest until she does.

So why is this terrifying her more than the thought of throwing herself off a building would?

Peter sighs. "Gamora-"

"I like being friends with you." He looks startled at her outburst. She probably does, too. She's not even sure where she's going with this but she plows on.

"I really, really like being friends with you. I have never had a best friend- so having you as one is- it is…great."

Peter smiles softly."Hey, you know I like being friends with you to-"she puts a finger to his mouth, desperately continuing before she loses her nerve.

"And I like talking with you, and making stupid jokes with you, and listening to your obnoxious music while you try to get me to dance and I just like being comfortable with you. I like being friends with you. And I do not…"she swallows. "I do not want to lose that. Ever."

"Gamora," Peter says, looking concerned. "You seriously don't have to- to worry about that, I'm not just gonna _stop being friends with you_-"

"But I don't know how to continue doing this, Peter!" she nearly yells at him in exasperation, the only thing quieting her tone the present knowledge of the rest of the team sleeping below. "I just- you just- at the hospital- I know you do not remember, Peter, but it was horrible, it was _awful_, and then you woke up and I was so _happy _that it scared me and then we talked but you do not remember which is good because I _do not want to lose our friendship_ but I have no idea how to function now because-because _stars_ I just _hate you_-"

And then her humiliating rambling is cut off by Peter's lips on hers and the entire universe grinds to a halt.

Her mind is frozen but her lips are moving_ (why are you moving like that you rebellious little traitors)_ and her chest had exploded into a thousand pieces and left the galaxy but it doesn't matter because she can't remember ever feeling this warm before.

Damn it all, she loves every second of it.

They break apart (_her heart giving a traitorous little whine) _and Peter brushes the hair out of her face, tilting her chin up so their eyes meet.

"Believe it or not, I do happen to remember everything we said in the hospital," he says, deadly serious and eyes far too intense for her heart rate. "And I meant it."

She stares at him, her insides no longer existent, brain stuck like Peter's music player does some times, repeating his words over and over again. There are a million replies she could say to that. What she goes with is considerably less smooth than she wanted.

"_Then why the hell didn't you say anything?!_" she practically shrieks in his face. Peter jumps back in shock, then dissolves into laughter while simultaneously trying to hush her.

"I'm sorry. I'm-_shh_, _you'll wake the others_-I'm sorry. I honestly thought-" he looks sheepish, now. "I should have said something, I'm sorry. I just thought, maybe…with the whole near-death thing you'd kinda just been worried, so it was just a- a post-adrenaline relief thing, not…" he ducks his head. "I wasn't sure if you still…meant it."

She stares at him for a minute. Then, voice drowning in incredulity,

"You _are_ an idiot."

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," And in his defense, he really does look sorry. "I'm just not-good, at relationships. Yeah. I actually suck at them, really."

_Relationships?!_ Well, she supposes, that is what they are steering dangerously close towards now. He is certainly not the only one out of his depth- she can be deadly and calm and icy cold, and hell, she can even do casual friendships, as she's proved in the last month, but a _relationship_ is a different story entirely.

Why-_what_, ever in the universe possessed her to fall in love with Peter Quill.

"But hey," he says, looking at her determinedly. "We can still do all the stuff we do as friends- heck, we cans still be _best friends_- and be in a relationship, too, y'know?

"I…guess?" She answers uncertainly.

"I mean, hell, it's our relationship, we can do whatever we want with it!" he says, growing far too excited for the subject they are discussing. In Gamora's opinion, anyways. "We can still do all the normal stuff, just, like, throw kissing and stuff in there."

"I can do kissing," she says, her lips still tingling from Peter's kiss earlier.

"Yeah," he says, grinning. "That was pretty awesome-"

"But you have to make some changes," she cuts him off, regaining her hand in the situation. "You are not going to make eyes at every female we pass anymore."

"I don't-what are you talking about!" he sputters, flushing. "I would have that one would be obvious!"

"And you cannot obnoxiously announce that we are 'a thing', as you put it," she continues. "You will continue to treat me like the terrifying assassin I am, which means _respect_."

"I do respect you," Peter pouts as Gamora smirks. This is becoming almost…fun.

_Oh she is so screwed._

"And you have to clean your ship."

"What?! What does that even have to do with our relationship?!"

"And finally," she continues, ignoring his sputtering. "You must make me those chocolate-chip waffles you talk so much about."

"Now _that_ one, I can do," he grins. "But here are _my _terms."

"You do not get terms-"

"Calm down, I've only got like, two."

She huffs at him, but nods for him to continue.

"First off, you have to watch Footloose with me."

"Fair enough," Gamora agrees. She's been wanting to see that anyways.

"And second…." She braces herself. "You have to dance with me."

Gamora stares at him incredulously. Peter just keeps smiling. Far, far too big a smile.

"Alright," she finally says resignedly. She does her best to keep a put-out look on her face, but in all honesty, it isn't that bad. Dancing looks…well, fun, to be honest.

It's just not exactly number one on an assassin- warrior's list of things to do.

But then again, neither is engaging in relationships with moronic fools who have horribly endearing smiles.

One of which he is wearing right now, looking stupidly happy at her answer.

"Alright!" he says enthusiastically. "Let's go now!"

"Wait-what-" she has no time to reply before he pulls her out of the chair and towards the ladder. Except he has, once again, forgotten that one of his legs is currently immobilized in a cast, so he goes down with a yelp and she falls on top of him with a shriek, and they both flop gracelessly on the floor of the cockpit.

"You _idiot!_" she cries, smacking his chest from where she is laying atop him.

"Ow, ow, ow, definitely not my best move there," Peter moans from beneath her.

"Well whaddya know, morons finally got it figured out."

Gamora's blood freezes in horror and she turns her head towards the ladder slowly. Then groans. It is just as she feared- Rocket, Drax, and even _Groot _are all squashed haphazardly on the ladder, watching them.

She feels it should be illegal for someone to smirk like that.

"Oh haha, hey guys," Peter's voice comes muffled from beneath her arm.

"_Rocket_…" she hisses.

"Do not mind us," Drax says amusedly.

"Yeah, just get back to…whatever you were doing," Rocket says, eyeing them both. Gamora has the growing urge to stab herself in the head.

Peter, on the other hand, seems far too nonchalant about the whole thing.

"Wanna watch Footloose with us?"

"That odd Terran movie you prattle on about?" Drax asks.

"Ah, it's not like we're gonna get any sleep anyways."

"I am Groot."

"Okay!" Peter says cheerfully. "To my room!"

"Why your room?"

" 'Cause that's where the movie is, _morrrrrron_."

"Fine. Just as long as you two don't go getting all kissy-face on us."

Gamora chokes. Peter just smirks.

"You never know, Rocket! That right, Gam?"

He gains another bruise on his arm for that one, but as they lie sprawled in front of the video screen, Kevin Bacon flipping his hair dramatically and Peter's hand intertwined lightly in hers, she decides that maybe she can do this relationship thing.

She's going to need those chocolate-chip waffles, though.

And she's definitely calling him Pete.


End file.
